Gotham City Limits Arc One
by reine Seele
Summary: Two of Gotham's most feared villains are given a second chance; for Two-Face this means a new start, but for Harley, more than a little heartbreak. Rated T for language, violence and sexual themes, subject to change in later chapters.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, it all belongs to DC and Bob Kane and all the wonderful comic writers who make these characters come to life.**

**A/N: It's been so long since I posted anything...gotta finish Thrice Charmed...  
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**Prologue**

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The early morning traffic of downtown Gotham was just as brutal and unforgiving as any other major city in the continental U.S., perhaps even worse than some of the busy foreign cities of South America and Europe. Bumper to bumper the cars idled, the engines of some beginning to overheat while others stalled out completely. Horns were being honked, as if the drivers had some sort of power over the flow of traffic. The noises echoed off the tall buildings made out of cement, steel and glass, reverberating throughout the city. A few pigeons twittered here and there, clucking in disapproval over man's tendency to commute to work at the same time as everyone else in the goddamn city, never mind the parents taking their kiddies to school.

The high-end business executives and the lowly office grunts sat there on the main road, waiting impatiently to get to work, to clock in and start earning their salaries to get them through the next two weeks. Big truck drivers bringing in a new shipment for the grocery stores or the fashion district sat there and scratched their crotches and protruding stomachs, wanting to get the job done with so they could head back west for the next load to the next location. Bus drivers tried to stay awake with their mugs of caffeine, depicting sly phrases or witty pieces of poetry meant to impress whoever was nosy enough to actually read the print. The select few who had lived in Gotham long enough to memorize which side streets could take them to their destination without introducing them back into main traffic did what they could to get to work on time before they were fired and replaced.

It was the same every weekday, sometimes even on weekends, depending on the business. Police Officers had it the worse; crime never slept in Gotham. In fact, if one wanted to be specific, it would be more accurate to say that crime enjoyed opening up twenty-four hour service shops, just to keep everyone busy and on their toes.

Gotham: the Dark City, the one place on earth where crime was more rampant, more horrendous and more feared than any other location on the globe. Some might contend other places to have a higher rate of criminal activity and while that fine detail might be true, no one, not Chicago, not the Red Hook District, not Blüdhaven, not Los Angeles nor Miami experienced the brutality and absolute evil Gotham did every moment of the day and night.

Being a cop in Gotham meant putting one's life on the line every minute on the clock; traffic violations and disturbances of the peace were considered a reprieve from the norm, possibly even a rarity and definitely a relief to deal with. Holidays and vacations were few and far in between and even then, one might be called in to help deal with the chaotic aftermath of one of the Joker's latest schemes, or something the Riddler had cooked up last minute. Someone had spotted Scarecrow making his way toward Gotham's water processing plant, again, or a little girl swore up, down and sideways she had seen the Batman swinging around rooftops. Never a moment's rest for the good men and women working down at the Gotham Central Police Department.

Sonny Costello took a few moments to take in all the hustle and bustle of the main street before the car made a quick turn to the right and down a side street which looked like it didn't see too much in the way of visitors. The houses on either side of the road were old, dating back to the early fifties, but all were in fairly good shape. The people who lived here were most likely older couples living off of retirement funds, even though they weren't retired. There were no kids playing in the fairly spacious front yards, no little dogs barking on the end of their leashes, no squirrels vying for the best nuts fallen from the old oak trees. One house looked like the drainpipe should be secured to the edge of the roof, while another was in desperate need of a repainting.

Sonny had never been inside one of these houses, but he knew if he were to peek in the window he would see the same thing in each one: old lace, antique porcelain figures and mismatched floral print furniture. He was roughly reminded of his grandmother's home and frowned. Turning to his twin brother, who was driving, he made a face and jerked his head toward the picturesque houses they were driving past.

"How come th' boss wants ta come t' a place like this? It ain't really his style, y'know?"

Matthew, slightly older than Sonny by four minutes, shrugged and slowed the Cadillac down to a crawl, wasting time while they waited for their employer to finish up whatever business he had at the end of the street.

"Why you always gotta question it? Let 'im do what he wants. He pays us good money and that's all we need to know."

Sonny rolled his eyes and went back to looking out the window, wondering how much longer this rendezvous was going to take. It had been close to forty minutes already, but if he knew his boss he understood he'd be waiting around for close to an hour and a half before getting the hell out of that neighborhood. Unlike his brother, Sonny was impetuous, impatient and always trying to keep busy. He hated being made to wait, hated being left outside to pal around while the big guns got to go inside and be a part of the action.

"I need somethin' t' _do_," he complained, slumping down in the seat like a bored kid forced into participating in a cross-country road trip.

"Why don'tcha keep a fucking eye out for cops, like you was told t' do? Jesus Christ, Sonny, I gotta remind you every time?"

Matthew shook his head exasperatedly and circled another block, venturing into a slightly older section of the neighborhood where the houses were in dire need of repair and the occupants looked like they could use a fixer-upper themselves. Sonny shivered as they passed by some kids sitting on the edge of the street, smoking blunts and dead, expressionless masks in place of their faces. He didn't care what anyone told him, Gotham was cursed; it did something to people, made them crazy and turned them into monsters. He would know, too, he had been only twelve when he had committed his first murder, under the supervision of his uncle. Had he stayed in Las Vegas with his grandmother, he probably would have been finishing up university or something, not busting heads and making collections.

"Hurry up," he mumbled when one of the younger kids saluted him with a middle finger straight up in the air, tempting him to go rip it off.

Matthew saw the gesture and chuckled, accelerating a fraction, just enough to get them to the next four-way stop. A hooker stood curled around the stop sign like a snake, flicking her tongue seductively and narrowing her eyes in a 'come hither' gaze. Matthew scanned her briefly, raising a dark eyebrow before continuing on.

"She was cute," he said lowly, more to himself than Sonny.

"If you like that sort of girl, yeah."

"What d'you mean, 'that sort of girl'?"

"Y'know, them…those girls with the…the…" Sonny made a motion with his hands to his chest, indicating a heavier chest and Matthew laughed out loud.

"I forget you like them small-titted girls. Fine by me, bro. The bustier th' better."

Sonny shivered as if in disgust and laughed along with his brother, feeling only slightly better now that they had rounded the corner and were heading back toward the end of the street their boss was at. Another ten minutes passed by before they got the sign that it was time for the pick-up, three quick beeps on the two way radio Sonny kept clipped to his belt. Matthew sped up and reached the house just as the door was beginning to open.

It was a much larger house than anything else they had passed, a monstrous two-story house with too many windows and a huge patio on the second floor. Sonny thought it looked amazing but Matthew thought it to be too much for the dingy little neighborhood, as if the cops didn't have a clue who lived here and how they got to be so well off. Drug dealers were his guess, maybe even members of the Mafia. It was a nice house though, with the light blue paint and the white framed windows, the solid oak door shined to a dark polish and the garden lining the pathway to the sidewalk most likely a woman's touch. Those Mafia wives, no one told them 'no' when it came to homemaking; they knew how to take care of their shit, that was for sure.

"Damn, where is he?" Matthew mumbled when he saw a couple no-names come out the front door, looking over their shoulders nervously, as if they expected to be caught. "He ain't out first he's gonna be raisin' hell….."

Sonny grimaced, not wanting to be on the receiving end of his boss's wrath.

"Maybe he's still talkin'?"

"Hell no, y'know he hates that. 'Sides, he already buzzed us."

"Maybe he went t' take a leak."

Matthew gave his brother a look and punched him none too gently in the arm.

"You dumb fuck."

Matthew pulled back his jacket to pat his guns, making sure they were there and easily reachable if he needed to go for them. Sonny rolled his eyes theatrically.

"Man, just calm th' hell down. He'll come out soon, right? He's got Klauss an' that Jones guy with 'im."

Sonny didn't answer but bit his lip between two rows of perfectly white teeth, worrying and wondering if he should go in there; if he did, though, and nothing was wrong, he was liable to get fired or shot. On the other hand, if he _didn't_ go in and the boss had needed him, he would get shot for sure. He was damned if he did, damned if he didn't, but such was the price for working with such a duplicitous man. He cursed lowly, even as Sonny kept a hand on the sleeve of his jacket, keeping him in the car. It was for the best, though, for within a few minutes he could see the trademark black and white of his boss's jacket making its way through the small gaggle of men standing outside. The moment they were able to see his face their hearts dropped into their stomachs.

"Aw, _shit_," Sonny whispered, recognizing that frown and knowing it meant there was going to be hell to pay later on. Matthew just swallowed and tightened his hold on the steering wheel, praying the boss would at least wait until they had gotten him home before he started up. Jones and Klauss were right on the man's heels, sharing worried glances with one another and making the cut throat gesture to the brothers in the car, trying to warn them to keep their mouths shut. The Costello's didn't need to be told twice and Sonny quickly hopped out the car to open the backseat door for the boss, trying not to look him in the face. He knew it would only give away his apprehension; that and the boss didn't like it when people stared at him.

Sonny felt a slight breeze as the man got into the back of the Cadillac, pulling a cigar out of his breast pocket and chopping the end off. The cigar was never a good sign; it meant he was very displeased with what had taken place in that house and he needed to try and calm down. A cigar never really did the trick, though, and neither did cigarettes. Sometimes it seemed the only way for the boss to calm down was to beat the hell out of someone, but it was way too early in the morning for him to go out and find a scapegoat. No, routine dictated he would wait for them to take him back home before picking one specific member to play the part of sacrificial lamb. Sonny had gotten it last time and his lower back still ached when he tried to turn around too fast.

Jones and Klauss went to their own car, a small Ford which they would be safe in for the time being and Matthew couldn't help but feel jealous of them. They probably had a good idea of what kind of mood the boss was feeling right now, maybe even an inkling of how badly he was going to blow up later on, but he had to play it safe, had to put his balls on the line and take a guess. Swallowing silently he started the car up and turned back to address his boss, who had a cigar clamped between his teeth and was trying to light it.

"Where to, Boss?" he asked, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice and failing; the car jilted as Sonny clambered back in the front seat, his face white and his eyes wide with fear. In the darkened back seat of the car, with the windows tinted so black you could barely see out of them let alone in, he could make out the sharp red of the lit end of the cigar as his employer inhaled. A few tiny embers fell and a cloud of smoke materialized out of nowhere, pinpointing the man's location.

"Boss?" Matthew asked when he got no reply after three more puffs of smoke. His skin started to crawl and he was vaguely aware of Sonny trying to get his attention, trying to tell him to shut the hell up and just drive, but he ignored him. He waited for another four puffs before his boss answered and when he did Matthew wished he had shut his trap and just drove.

"_Where do you **think**, dumbass? Take me home_."

The gravelly tone indicated his boss was….in another frame of mind, so to speak. It was as bad a sign as the cigar, probably even worse, all things considered. Matthew licked his lips and pulled the car into drive, taking off down the street; Klauss and Jones followed in their little beat up Ford, looking as inconspicuous as could be and the more safer for it. Both Sonny and Matthew would have given everything to have traded places with the other two men at that point in time. Despite routine, they never knew if their boss would keep with it; he had been known to blow up in the middle of traffic, which was probably the reason why Matthew had started to prematurely grey around his temples.

They kept the speed limit, avoided known speed traps and cop stops, obeying the law of the road until they finally reached the Industrial District of Gotham. Here the buildings were in even more disarray than those from the neighborhood they had left; tall structures too close together, cast in red brick and ornate gothic sculptures, some of them looking as if they might have been condemned, others looking like they should have been demolished years ago. The streets were bare of life except for the few sparse weeds breaking free through the cracks in the sidewalks. What few trees still existed alongside the roads and in the park were all dead and bare of leaves. They stood there like skeletons warning visitors of the fate that awaited them should they choose to remain. But few people lived out here and those who did were usually running from something…or someone; more often than not they were criminals hiding from the law. No children existed in this decrepit neighborhood, no animals, no cops.

This part of the city of considered a wasteland, unfit for human survival and was thus sectioned off as private property. At least, that's what the signs bordering the streets and the buildings said: 'Private Property, No Trespassing,' 'Private Property, Keep Out,' 'Area Condemned by the City of Gotham' and the list went on and on.

Sonny and the others knew better, though. The Boss owned this chunk of land, this section of the city. It was a huge piece of property, stretching about twenty city blocks and encompassing a park and several old casinos. Before the mayor found sufficient reason to evacuate the entire district, Industrial had been a hotbed for criminal activity, gambling, stripper joints and brothels. Perhaps that was why it had been cut off from the rest of the city, to protect the citizens from the ever expanding illegal activity. It had been bought in chunks here and there, starting with the center, the heart of Industrial and working outward. Within four years it had been fully paid for.

Matthew shivered unconsciously as he drove down the old main street, wondering not for the first time how powerful the boss had to be in order to buy off a piece of Gotham and keep it to himself. That took a sort of tenacity rarely seen nowadays, not to mention strings to pull and people to influence. But the boss had always been good at influencing others. He had made a living out of it once, as a lawyer or something. The only people who remembered what had happened ten years ago either lived through the catastrophe or were a part of it. Most of those who had been a part of it were dead now.

Matthew turned a corner and stopped the car, inhaling deeply as if to brace himself for the pounding he knew was coming; behind them the Ford pulled to a stop as well, Jones and Klauss getting out to lean against the hood.

"_Sonny_," the voice from the back seat rasped after taking another puff of the cigar; it was a stub now, almost not even worth finishing up.

"_Sonny, get the hell out_."

Sonny got out, looking happier for it; he wasn't the one having to pay for whatever had gone on in that house and though he knew he should have been sorry for his brother, he was glad it wasn't him receiving a beat down; the boss had a nasty right hook. He went to join Klauss and Jones at the rear of the Cadillac, accepting a cigarette from the German and lighting it to calm his shaking nerves.

"What happened?" he asked once he felt the nicotine beginning to do its job. Klauss shrugged, his own cigarette trapped between two fingers and leaking smoke into the air.

"It was bad," he said gruffly, his accent tainting his English just enough to identify him as a foreigner. "They didn't take the bait and it was bad…..for them."

Sonny gave Jones a look and the tall blonde man gave a rugged smile.

"So what happened?"

"He got mad, like always. You know him, though. He just got quiet and gave them an ultimatum: pay up or end up with a war on their hands. They laughed at him and he walked out."

It took a moment for Sonny to realize what the German was saying, since the man's Ws all sounded like Vs, but he understood why the boss was pissed; he hated it when things didn't go according to planned, more so when the plan in question had been four months in the making. None of the guys knew what it was yet, since the boss abhorred letting his lackeys know anything until the last possible moment, but it had to be good, if he was really mad. It had to be good if it had to be planned at all, for the man usually took off without a moment's notice, dragging them all down with him as he went on a spree of sorts. The last time that had happened they had lost a man and replaced him with Jones. The Cadillac rocked for a moment, causing all three men to stop their musing and shake their heads in sympathy.

"Matt's probably catching hell," Jones said, speaking up for the first time that evening.

"Probably," Sonny agreed stoically. The Cadillac rocked some more and the three men all grimaced as they heard the telltale sound of someone's head hitting a window. The boss was in some mood alright.

"You think he'll waste 'em?"

"Who?"

"The Russians, numbnuts, that's who he was meetin' with."

"Oh….I dunno. Maybe. He's been getting' restless lately, so maybe."

"He's been talkin' about hookin' up, y'know? To, like, one of the others like him."

"What do y'mean, 'like him'?"

"Y'know, a _freak_."

"Jones, you better shut the hell up right now. Boss hates it when people call him 'freak'. He hears you, he's gonna have your balls."

"He can't hear me, he's in the damn car."

"Just shut up, man!"

Jones fell silent with a roll of his eyes. Their boss was a freak, end of story.

Inside the Cadillac Matthew groaned and tried to pull away from the boss, receiving another punch to the jaw for his cowardice.

"_You know what I hate about people_?" The voice hissed at him, raw and scratchy, like someone had gargled with rusty nails.

"No….," he quickly gasped, feeling blood in his mouth.

"_Too damn soft. Don't got the…the **balls** to do the job. They just wanna sit around and have everything handed to them on a silver platter_."

"Yeah…yeah…"

Another smack across the face and Matthew felt his teeth rattle in his head.

"_Did I give you permission to speak_?!"

Matthew shook his head 'no' and listened intently while keeping his mouth firmly shut. He wasn't going to live through another one of the boss's mood swings at this rate. He was slammed against the door of the car a few more times before being kicked out onto the road and he heard the boss laughing uproariously when he landed on his face. From behind the car, Klaus gave a low whistle while Jones suppressed a snicker. Sonny looked ill but didn't move forward to help his brother; if he did, he'd be in line for the same beating, maybe worse.

The moment the boss stepped out of the car they all stood to attention, trying to look as if they hadn't just been gossiping like old fisherman's wives. Their boss was tall, over six feet, and he looked like he might have played football in college. From the angle they saw him at he looked like any clean cut business man, dressed smartly in a black suit, his blonde hair well groomed and his eye blue and full of life. The moment he turned to them that illusion was irreparably shattered.

The scars on the left side of his face had robbed him of any semblance of humanity, melting away the flesh and some of the muscle, leaving him looking like a corpse with his foot half in the grave. His right eye was naked, rolling and without the benefit of an eyelid and his teeth were bared in a parody of a snarl. Sonny swore he could see the man's jawbone, but he had never been able to look his boss in the face for more than a few seconds at a time. Any longer than that and he would be endangering his own life.

The boss took one last puff on his cigar and tossed it at Matthew, who lay on the ground, writhing and trying to get up; the stub bounced off the top of his head and went spiraling off into the street. Every man held his breath as Two-Face took out his coin, that infamous coin which had ended the lives of many and spared the lives of others. The dollar piece went flipping through the air as it was tossed, glinting in the morning light before arcing and falling back down. Two-Face expertly caught the coin and flipped again, settling into a rhythm as he observed his other lackeys.

"_Well_?" he growled impatiently when it looked like no one was going to give him an explanation.

"W-what's up boss?" Sonny bravely ventured.

"_Why the hell are you morons standin' around? We've got work to do_!"

Just like cockroaches scattering to avoid a light, Sonny, Jones and Klauss all split up in different directions to go and do the work they had laid for them late last night, should the deal fall through. Sonny paused only to give his brother another sympathetic look and then he was gone, striding back down the street to go see a man about some explosives. Matthew struggled to his feet when he heard Two-Face giving the dismissal, not wanting to be stuck for a moment longer with the madman he worked for; one beating a week was almost too much for him to bear as it was.

"_Costello_," he heard the boss growl just before he made to run off. His shoulders drooped dismally as he turned around, fully expecting a punch to the face or a full out tackle to the ground. Two-Face just gave him a look, raising his eyebrow and smirking good-naturedly.

"_I have a special errand for you, Matthew. I want you to go down to Crime Alley and find the clown. I got somethin' he might be interested in_."

Matthew felt the blood drain out of his face at the mention of 'clown'. No one who lived in Gotham took 'clown' to mean anything other than the Joker, especially when their boss was well known a crime lord. He certainly wasn't looking for party favors. Matthew started to hobble off toward his own car, glad that Sonny had opted to walk instead of drive; the walk might have robbed him of what little strength he had left. The boss wasn't exactly merciful with his beatings.

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Thank you for taking a look! Please Read and Review if you thought there's anything I could work on, or if you liked it and had some thoughts.**


	2. For Starters

**A/N: School's out for a month. Ready...Set...WRITE!**

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_**For Starters**_

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The clown sat in front of him with one leg draped over his knee, hands clasped politely in his lap, and a sweet, innocent smile on his face that belied his insanity.

**Fuck this, let's just shoot 'im.**

_Can't, he still might be able to help us._

**He's clearly not interested.**

_You clearly like to jump to conclusions._

"So," Two-Face started, looking over the heavy folder of papers the Joker had flung at him, "you understand what I require?"

"What you _need_, you mean," the Joker said, his smile growing wider. "You _need _me, don'tcha?"

**Kill him.**

_Shut up!_

"Inasmuch as I would prefer to have you on my side rather than that of my enemy's? Yeah, I need you. Look, can you do it or not?"

Two-Face leaned back in his Italian leather chair, listening to the staccato rhythm of rain pellets peppering the outside of the window to his left. He set the papers, his papers, down on the red oak desk and stared across the room at the Joker, who rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and made the noise little kids did when they were trying to decide between chocolate and vanilla ice cream.

"Well?" Two-Face asked, an edge to the tone of his voice which denoted his impatience.

"I don't see why not," the Joker chuckled, picking a piece of imaginary lint off his sleeve and flicking it away. "I mean, you profit, I profit, and I get Harley out of my hair for a whole month? _And _Bats is following a false lead? _And _I get a giant parade balloon of my design? Harvey, buddy, _pal_, why would I turn such an opportunity down?"

Two-Face rolled his eyes at the Joker's theatrics and slipped a pen across the table.

"Just sign the damn thing," he sighed.

The Joker snickered and snatched the pen up, scrawling an untidy signature across the bottom of the paper. He surveyed his masterpiece for a minute and then handed paper and pen back to his new 'partner'. Two-Face wordlessly accepted the contract and read over it just to make sure everything was in order…and that the Joker had signed across the dotted line, this time. Finally satisfied that business was moving ahead as planned, he slipped the paper into his folder and stowed it in a drawer beneath his desk.

"So I take the slums and make like I'm planning something big, right?" Joker asked, getting up from his seat and smoothing down his pants.

"Anything you want," Two-Face expounded, "just make sure it's damn convincing. I don't want the fuzz or the Bat sniffing around the docks for at least six months."

"Why won't you let me in on what 's going down there?" Joker whined, clasping his hands behind his back and swaying from side to side.

Two-Face grumbled and pretended to organize some more papers, even though he already knew they were in perfect order.

"Russians don't want anyone to know the details," he finally admitted, still sore over the insult to his integrity. As if he couldn't keep a secret. He hated being kept in the dark. _Hated_. Never mind the fact that he was being paid well over a million to procure a secure drop off point and safe transportation throughout Gotham. Curiosity burned a hole through him, and he vowed to exercise all extra resources into some detective work to find out exactly what the Russians planned on bringing overseas.

"Phooey," Joker said, turning his nose up. "Well _they're_ no fun. "

"How soon can you get started?" Two-Face asked.

The Joker waved his hand and shrugged, a sweetly curved smile on his face.

"Whenever's best. Today, tomorrow, a week from never. Y'know, the usual."

_ "How's tomorrow?"_

"Consider it done, Dent ol' boy!"

The Joker bounded from the room like a kid just given a hundred dollar bill and told to go have fun. Two-Face remained in his office for the longest time, massaging the bridge of his nose and arguing with himself. With no small amount of luck, his plan would go smoothly. The Joker would fabricate all the signs of an underground operation perpetuating mass homicide throughout Gotham, and make it convincing enough to monopolize all of Gordon's time and resources, and hopefully attract Batman's attention to the point of blinding him to the truth.

Hopefully.

**We're fucked.**

_Pessimist._

**No. **_**Realist**_**.**

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"So whatcha thinkin', Puddin'?" Harley asked as she watched the rain come down. It relentlessly pounded against the window, and made her feel all cuddly and warm. She dropped the dirty, torn curtain the moment the man drove out of sight, blowing a large bubble with her gum and bounding over to the Joker's side. Hopping up on the table he was working at and leaning back, she tilted her head to the side to look at the plans he had been in the process of drawing.

She was the only one who noticed and appreciated, but her Puddin' was an _artist_. Not only was he a genius when it came to concocting plans, but he was also adept at drawing them out on paper. Harley didn't tell him, but she kept some of his better plans to herself after they had reached completion and was composing a scrapbook to give to him on his birthday, whenever that was. Curling an arm around his shoulders and popping another bubble in his ear, she leaned precariously close to see what he was doing this time.

"Puddin'? Didja hear me?" The Joker growled and shrugged her off, but she didn't mind at all. He was just busy, like he always was.

"I betcha ol' Twofie is twistin' in his seat if he needs t' beg for _your _help!" Harley grinned widely and blew another bubble, popping it with the tip of her finger and stretching a long pink strand out before popping it all back into her mouth and chewing raunchily. She didn't know why Two-Face wanted her Puddin's help, but she knew he'd have to work for it; no one treated the Joker like a hired hit man unless they were packing a load of money, or had something he really wanted. The Joker always took what he wanted anyway, so she knew that wouldn't be the case; how many times had Two-Face and the Joker crossed paths in the past decade or so? Too many times, she supposed.

"_Puddin_'," Harley tried again, hoping to incite her love into some kind of conversation about his earlier meeting with Two-Face, "D'ya think we can bring the rubber chickens this time?"

For the first time that hour, the Joker dropped his pencil and turned to give Harley a simpering smile. He reached up to playfully tweak her nose, which made her squeal, and then promptly shoved her off the desk.

"Oowwww," Harley complained once she had righted herself. Maybe she had been crumpling some of his plans.

"Harley, Harley, Harley," the Joker rasped as he got to his feet, finally tired of listening to his hench-girl do nothing other than yak, yak, yak.

"Yeah Puddin'?" she asked hopefully, bouncing to her feet with a smile plastered on her face. Maybe Mistah J was going to give her a present! Or better yet, a job. She loved it when she got to help her sweetie out with a big project, even it was a teensy part. He didn't always like to involve her, unless he thought she'd manage to do a world of good.

"I made a deal with Harv today," the Joker said, placing a finger on the desk and drawing a little smiley face in the dust. "It's a good deal. We're gonna get to make fun of Bats _and _we get a giant parade balloon."

"Oooohhhh!" Harley squealed, picturing a giant Joker-esque clown floating down Main Street and emitting clouds of Joker venom into the horrified crowds below.

"Exactly," her Puddin' continued, "so if we want it, we have to be good little boys and girls and do what Harv tells us. If the deal doesn't hold, we don't get the balloon, and I already made plans for it."

"What plans, what plans?"

"Forget about it and pay _attention_! You and I are a team, right Harl?"

Harley nodded happily, her heart aflutter already in response to the cajoling tone the Joker employed. He was so romantic, he really was!

"So if I tell you to do something, you have to do it right, riiiight?"

"Uh-huh. I can do whatever you want! Just name it, Puddin', Harley Quinn, on the job!"

"You're going to go work with Two-Face for a little bit."

The smile dropped from her face like a dead fly and she began to whine in protest. Work with Two-Face? No way, José, not in this lifetime! He was creepy, and after everything Ivy warned her about back when those two had been dating! Eyuck, she wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole!

"_Puddin_'! Why me? Can't Benny do it?"

"Noooo," Joker drawled, "it has to be _you_. It's the only way to make for a convincing act."

"Convincing…huh?"

"You'll see. Now pack your bags, Harl, you're goin' on a vacation!"

As Harley Quinn was unceremoniously shoved toward the little love nest she took time to decorate for her and Mistah J, she wondered what she had done to deserve such exile. For of course, if her Puddin' was so _happy _about shipping her off to stay with nasty ol' _Two-Face_, then she must have done something horrible to deserve such a fate. She could only guess at what awful misdemeanor she committed to earn the Joker's wrath.

"Maybe I went overboard with the whoopee cushions," she mumbled to herself as she dragged a carpetbag out of the closet.


	3. How Not to Get Jerked

**A/N: **Hey there, been a while. Finally got inspired to finish this. Hopefully I'll have more time for it between school assignments.

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**2. How Not to Get Jerked**

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"Bye babies," Harley howled, hugging Bud and Lou around their necks and shedding tears all over the place. The hyenas panted mournfully, thumping their tails in agitation over their mistress's anguish. The Joker stood at the door, tapping his foot impatiently and checking the five watches on his wrist. Harley knew her Pud—no, no, she _told _herself she wasn't going to call him that anymore! If he wouldn't tell her why he was sending her away, and if she couldn't figure out what she had done wrong, then of course he deserved the same silent treatment! It was only fair, after all. So Harley threw herself on her favorite pets and peppered them with kisses and promises to come back home soon, just to drag out leaving until the last possible moment.

"Will you hurry it _up_?" the Joker interjected during a lull in her theatrical goodbyes.

"Just because _you're_ happy to see me go," Harley sniffed from her position on her knees, "doesn't mean that Bud and Lou ain't gonna miss me. Ain't that right, sweeties? Don't you worry, Mama's gonna come right back, I promise!"

_Not if I can help it_, the Joker thought, wondering how long Two-Face would be able to put up with her. The only thing he already missed about having his Henchgirl around was the absence of filth around the hideaway. Sure, Harley could be _insanely _annoying, but she knew how to keep a clean home. And she wasn't half bad at cooking. And she _did _come in handy whenever he needed a punching bag to vent his frustrations on. He wouldn't even get started on the wonders she did for his ego. Yeah, he'd probably miss her a _little _bit, but there was no denying a parade balloon was a lot better. He'd cut off Harley's right arm for that.

"Hurry it up, will ya?" he snapped again, and this time Harley slowly rose to her feet and clutched her carpetbag to her chest. Tears left streaks in the white face paint she refused to wash off and a big brown trench coat barely hid the red and black legs of her costume. She stuffed as many "normal" clothes into the carpetbag as possible, and then filled another bag full of "necessities", which seemed to include at least three framed pictures of her and the Joker, enough bubblegum to make a five year old happy for a year, and a diary with a lock on it, which the Joker had already read. She slowly walked to the door and gave the Joker such a pitiful look he rolled his eyes.

"You act like I'm shippin' you off to Arkham," he grumbled as he led the way down the stairs to the van.

"Not like you haven't b'fore," Harley mumbled. She would have almost preferred being sent to Arkham. At least _there _she had friends. No telling what would happen at Two-Face's place. In fact, she couldn't remember ever being over to his place…if he even had one. Maybe he did and it was just soooo secret… Harley's thoughts drifted off on fanciful notions of looting everything worth more than five thousand from Two-Face's home and pawning it all off so she could buy Mistah J his _own _parade balloon. Then he wouldn't send her off and she wouldn't have to be away from him for so long—he never did tell her how long this little arrangement was going to last.

"Mistah J?" Harley asked softly as she clambered into the back seat of the van. The Joker slid right into the front seat, not at all worried about being spotted; the windows were tinted dark enough to the point no one would see him, and Benny drove fairly fast.

"What?" he asked, fiddling with the radio the minute the engine turned over.

"Um, when do I get ta, y'know, come home? I mean, this ain't gonna last _too _long, is it, Puddin'?"

"Ooohhh, I dunno, Harley ol' girl," the Joker said, searching for the comedy station so he could listen to old Rodney Dangerfield skits. "Harv says he might need to keep me busy for maaaaaybe six months or so, probably longer."

"_Six months_," Harley wailed, "that's almost a whole year!"

"Half a year," the Joker corrected patiently, "and you'll be having so much fun you won't even miss me. Promise." Harley almost called him out for being a first-rate liar, but clamped her lips shut and turned to look out the window. She fought back tears and tried so very hard not to whimper. A whole half a year away from her Puddin'. Even if he _was _mad at her and trying to teach her a lesson, six months was harsh. Worst of all, she had to spend an entire six months with a man she considered to be beneath the Joker's acquaintance. Harvey Dent didn't deserve to be in the same _room _as Mistah J, and that was a fact. No one else was more clever, more dastardly, more romantic, more handsome, or plain 'round _better _than the Joker.

"This blows, Mistah J," Harley said after watching the rundown buildings of the abandoned amusement park slowly morph into the newer apartment complexes, complete with brand new coats of paint, fresh green lawns, and conformist white mailboxes. The sight made her ill as she thought about how long it might be until she saw it again.

"I don't even know what I'm s'posed to be _doing_! Can't I have a hint, just a teensy one? Pleeeeaaaase, Mistah J?"

"If I tell you," the Joker bartered, "will you _shut up_ and let me concentrate?"

Harley nodded, clasping her hands in front of her like she was going to start begging in the next moment. The Joker sighed and rolled his eyes, thinking what all he could tell her without compromising any of _his _plans.

"Well, y'see," he said, "you're going to be playing a little _game _while living with Twofers, and it involves cooking, maybe a little cleaning, and keeping him happy. _I_ have to do the hard work out in the slums, but Bats can't see you with me."

"Why not?" Harley asked, her head spinning with the confusing information.

"Because it's part of the _plan_."

"But that doesn't tell me anything!"

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about, Harleykins, you just do your job and in no time we'll be in possession of a great, big parade balloon!"

It sounded like a load of bull to Harley, who felt her devoted little heart just separate into two at the thought of being away from her Puddin' so long. She completely forgot about being mad at him earlier. She clutched her carpetbag to her chest, traced the outline of one of faded pink flowers, and sighed heavily. The further they drove into Gotham, the more sullen and withdrawn she became. She hunched her shoulders, drew her knees close together, and frowned at every passing citizen.

The apartment complexes slowly metamorphosed into the close knit skyscrapers and booming business buildings she was more used to robbing than touring. Staring out the tinted window, Harley watched the city fly by and wondered why she always managed to get mixed up in the most unlikely of situations.

_This is soooo not fair_, she thought to herself._ No matter what I do t' bring a smile t' my Puddin's face, I always seem to screw it up somehow._

"Almost there, kiddo," the Joker said. He sounded more than a little cheerful. Harley sighed and buried her face in her arms.

Gotham Industrial loomed in the distance, a dark blight against the red and orange horizon. The neighborhood looked like a ghost town, and for all intents and purposes, it was. Two-Face preferred to keep it that way. Joker wrinkled his nose at the ramshackle buildings.

"Talk about your fixer-uppers," he said out loud. Harley heard him and raised her head a bit, blinking away bleariness.

"Two-Face lives _here_?" she asked, sticking her tongue out. Great. Not only was she exiled, but she was exiled to the rottenest, dirtiest, broke-down-ist part of Gotham imaginable. No doubt a house was going to collapse on top of her head. Then what? She'd never see her Puddin' again, or Red, or Professor Crane, or Puppethead and everyone else back at Arkham. She'd never get to hit Bats with a hammer or make Gordon choke on a rubber chicken. No more fun, not ever.

"Awww," she moaned, and reluctantly dragged herself out of the van. Joker hopped out with a spring in his step and took her bag for her, swinging it around. He grinned and Harley felt tears at the corners of her eyes. She had no choice, though. If Joker wanted it done, she was the girl to do it…even if it meant being away from him for so long. Harley followed him to a shoddy little door, looking around her with a scrunched nose and a curled lip.

"Knock-knock!" Joker called out, rapping against the door as loud as possible. He kept rapping, even after Harley distinguished footsteps from inside. She held her breath as the door swung open to reveal a very tall man wearing a scowl on his face. Harley gulped and hunched her shoulders. He wasn't Two-Face, but that didn't make him any better.

"Knock again, Clown," the man said, shooting her Puddin' a dirty look. "Knock again on this door and I'm gonna knock your head t' the ground."

Joker laughed and waved the insult away. Instead, he grabbed Harley by her arm and hauled her in front of him, like he was presenting his daughter to her groom.

"Here she is!" Joker said, dropping the carpetbag. "She's house trained, mostly, and she can cook. Just try not to break her and she's yours for six months!"

"You mean one," the man said, looking Harley over like one might a brand new car. "One month, man, no more."

Harley perked up. One month? That was it? Sure, it was still a long time, but it wasn't six months! She didn't even care that the Joker lied to her; it didn't mean anything now that she knew the truth. Harley beamed and looked up at the strange man in the doorway, ready to make friends. The man noticed her giddy expression and rolled his eyes.

"That it?" he asked.

"Yup," the Joker said, giving Harley an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek. She squealed and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. All was forgiven.

"Be good now," her Puddin' said, patting Harley on the head.

"I will," Harley promised, suppressing another squeal.

The man in the door way rolled his eyes again and muttered under his breath, "Good grief."

He had a feeling it was going to be the longest month of his life.


	4. Phoney Smiles and Fake Hellos

**A/N: **Hrrmm, yeaaaah, it's been a while and I'm like the worst author ever. Sorry gaiz. :/

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**3. Phoney Smiles and Fake Hellos**

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Seth Jones looked down at the young woman he allowed through the door. He didn't know what he expected when the boss informed him that the Joker's henchgirl would be staying with them for a month, but he felt his expectations betrayed. Seth expected someone utterly outrageous, just as every bit as colorful and dangerous as the Joker. Harley Quinn looked like a glorified mime. But orders were orders and Seth showed her into the apartment and hoped Two-Face knew what he was doing.

Which was paradoxical thinking, because, according to everyone _else_, Two-Face _always_ knew what he was doing.

"Well," Seth said, rubbing the back of his neck, "guess I better figure out where to put you."

"Where to put me?" Harley asked, frowning with a very pretty pout. "What d'ya mean? Don'tcha have a room or somethin'?"

"Probably," Seth shrugged, "but I don't know where."

He ignored her barely audible _hmph_ and smoothly moved down the long, narrow hall which led from front door to living room. Well, foyer, he supposed, since the building itself was built in the traditional hotel/apartment style: the entire first floor used to be the reception area, and the desk where receptionists sat still stood, though it had long since been converted into a modern wet bar. Several leather couches framed a large glass coffee table, which, in turn, preceded an enormous HD flatscreen.

"Ooohhhh!' Harley cooed, the moment the flatscreen came into view. Seth grinned at her enthusiasm and couldn't help but gush.

"Yeah," he said, "_that_ little baby was _my_ idea. Fifty-six inches of pure, glorious, unadulterated HD, with 1080pi capacity. You have no idea how amazing football season looks in fifty-six inches. Or video games."

He had lost Harley at _fifty-six inches_, but she was too engrossed to care. Saturday morning cartoons were on her mind, not boring football or video games.

"Can I use it?" she asked, turning to her, _ugh_, babysitter with startling large blue eyes.

"Uh," Seth said.

"Pleeeeaaassseeee?" Harley whined, clasping her hands in front of her and falling down on her knees. "I promise to never, ever, ever, ever, _ever_ touch it 'less you're around, and I _swear_ I won't throw the remote!"

"Shit, fine, whatever," Seth said, looking alarmed, "just get off the goddamn floor."

Harley bounced back up and jumped for joy, all but throwing her arms around Seth's neck.

"Whoopeeeee!" she squealed, and Seth rubbed the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger.

"Vat's vith all the fuckin' racket?"

Boris Klauss stormed into the room, wearing boxer shorts and a white undershirt, a cigar stuck between his clenched teeth. His brow furrowed the moment he saw Harley, and he immediately drew himself up.

"Who the fuck is this?" he asked, taking the cigar out of his mouth and snubbing it in one of the many ashtrays littering the room.

"The Joker's girl," Seth said, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes. "Why?"

"Take her to her fucking room and shut the hell up," Boris growled.

"Like I know where that is," Seth sneered, though he obediently turned around to do as he was told.

"If you take your ass out of your head, _schwuler_, then maybe you'd haff a good idea of vat goes on around here!"

"It's 'take your head outta your ass,' you dumb Nazi shit."

Harley followed Seth as he lumbered out of the room and toward an elevator shaft that looked…not safe. In fact, the stairs would have been perfectly fine for her, but her erstwhile guide pressed the button for the upper floor (three or four, she didn't see which) and she had no time to complain. Once again clutching her bag to her chest and keeping her trap shut, Harley swayed back and forth to the cheesy elevator music while Seth tapped his foot.

So far, she felt spectacularly out of place. No one seemed to be expecting her, no one knew where to put her, and she hadn't heard one peep from either Seth or the German guy about whether or not she'd be meeting Two-Face. Not that she wanted to meet him; he was practically her jailer! She just felt that, as her _host_ (blegh!), ol' Twofie should show a little more hospitality than his men were showing, acting like they didn't even want her there.

_Swell service_, she thought to herself. The elevator _dinged_ (fourth floor) and Seth led her out onto a long, posh hall. And by posh, Harley meant _swanky_. The hall walls were made out of a deep mahogany, as were the polished floors. A long, richly patterned carpet, black and white, flowed both ways, and gorgeous paintings lined the walls. Some of the paintings Harley recognized from the Gotham Museum, others had to be either commissioned or were by foreign artists. They were beautiful.

"Whoa," Harley gulped, feeling slightly intimidated by the finery. Yeah, sure, okay, life wasn't always _grand_ with Mistah J, and they didn't _always_ have nice things, but she was _happy_ and that's what counted, right? _Right?_ She didn't need priceless ol' paintings, or plush rugs to make her day. That's what she kept telling herself as Seth led her down the hall past many doors to one singular door. They must've all been hotel rooms at one time, she realized. But she didn't need a house full of rooms, or mahogany floors, or flatscreens, or, or, or…_oooohhhh_.

The room was beautiful. No, scratch that, it was _luxurious_. It was…like some kind of fairy-tale princess dream! A four poster bed with the gauzy hangings, a walk-in closet, a four piece vanity with a full length mirror, and…

_Oh…my…god_, Harley thought as she dropped her bag on the floor. She all but pounced past Seth and yanked the bathroom door open, hoping against hope that it wasn't what she thought it…yes…yes it was. She screamed loud enough to wake the neighborhood and Seth ran over, his hand on the holster of his gun before he even knew what the problem was. Maybe she just saw a really fuckin' huge rat.

"What is it?" he asked, looking over her shoulder into the pristine bathroom. Nothing wrong as far as he could see.

"It's…it's…," Harley gaped, pointing.

"It's _what?_"

"It's _beautiful!_"

"It's just a bathroom, like all the others!"

It was _not_ like all the other bathrooms Harley had ever been in, with their drab white tile floors, their boring white, scratchy, stiff towels, the tiny shower stall that felt more like a coffin than anything, and the wiggly toilet. This was _paradise_. The king-sized Jacuzzi tub dominated the room, complete with three steps to get in the thing, and there were several faucets for fancy things like _bubbles_ and _perfume_ and _body wash_. The towels matched the rustic décor and were a burnt orange; the tiles a pleasing off-white, the shower stall anything _but_ a coffin, and the sink gilded with gold and ivory. Harley felt herself dying a little bit on the inside as she took everything in.

"I get to live _here?_" she asked weakly, turning to look at Seth. He nodded and clipped his gun back into place.

"Boss usually uses it himself when he's in one of his moods, but I don't see no reason why you can't stay here for now. It's not like the other rooms are furnished, and…well, guess if it were me, I'd put the Joker's girl in a nice place. Don't want _him_ mad at me."

Harley bounced once and squealed again, running back over to the bed and jumping on it. She promptly sank deep down into the mattress and sighed happily. She didn't mind being away from Mistah J for a whole month…she could probably live for the whole six months, as a matter of fact! Her Puddin' had been right as rain! He always was, right down the very last thing! He knew she'd be taken care of, he just knew! Harley kicked herself for ever doubting him in the first place and snuggled a plush pillow.

"Yeeeeah," Seth drawled, not sure how to take this change of direction, "the boss ain't home now, so you better stay out of fuckin' trouble. I don't wanna have to explain to him why somethin's broke or whatever. Dinner'll be at eight, it usually is, unless we're all busy. Umm, yeah, don't go to the third or second floor unless you're called, and watch for the dogs, because they bite."

"Huh? Dogs? What?" Harley asked, rolling across the bed and giving Seth a silly grin. She wasn't even paying fucking attention anymore. Seth sighed and rolled his eyes, running his hand through his hair. He was done caring. If she wanted to prowl around, that was on her. He had done his work for the day. The only thing worrying him was whether or not the boss would care for it.


	5. Ours Are the Late Hours

**A/N: **Another lovely chapter. I'm pumping these out, for some reason. Keep your fingers crossed that this keeps up, else I'll have writer's block for another six months. Ugh.

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**4. Ours Are the Late Hours**

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_**GOOOONNNNNNG**_**.**

_**GOOOONNNNNNG**_**.**

The church bells rang solidly, marking the hour for those still awake to see it pass by. The reverberations seemed to shake the very foundations of the building, startled a few roosting birds, and caused a car alarm to go off somewhere on the streets below. Eerie, yet fitting, or so Two-Face thought.

He sprawled in the front pew, the one closest to the podium, elbows resting on the back and his legs crossed at the knee. A cigarette dangled precariously from his mangled lip and he glanced around the room, bored to death. The other empty pews stretched out behind him, black, lonely rows that looked less inviting and friendly than they did every Mass. The pipe organ behind the podium loomed threateningly against the wall, all black shadows and _presence_, and more so were the Virgin Mary statues. They were lifeless and dull, shadowed, frightening, and expressionless. Shouldn't the mother of _God_ be happy?

The church did not look like a church in the dark, and Two-Face mused that perhaps nothing looked like itself in the dark. He hadn't even liked church when he was whole, and now he just hated it. Bullshit, all of it. There was no God; there were men, and then there were men who made themselves into gods. He intended to become the latter, someday.

_Don't think things like that!_ Harvey moaned in the back of his mind.

**Or what, we'll get struck by a lightning bolt? Don't be a fucking queen.**

_God, Two-Face, not in a fucking **church**, c'mon!_

Sometimes he despised sharing a body with a goody-two-shoes. Harvey Dent made everything a hell of a lot harder than it had to be, always complaining or protesting one thing or another. He never shut up. Fuckin' pansy.

_What're we doin' here again?_

**Waitin'.**

_No shit, but what are we waitin' for?_

**Not 'what'. Whom.**

As if on cue, a large door creaked open, loud enough to be worthy of any horror flick where the dumb bitch with huge tits goes in search of the creepy noise. Two-Face didn't flinch, but took a long drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke into a small cloud above his head. The sharp clicking of heeled shoes reached his ears and he smiled dirtily, licking his bottom lip as a woman approached. He didn't bother to stand.

The woman wore a stern expression on her rounded face, and tiny, far too matronly spectacles sat on the bridge of her pinched nose. Though she was only twenty-six, she walked with a clipped gait and a limp, as if arthritis pained her knees, and she dressed so conservatively it would take a well timed trip to catch sight of her ankles alone. She was short, slight, and had a no-nonsense air about her. Two-Face didn't even know the color of her hair, she kept it all under wraps with that damned lace cap of hers. And that stupid rosary constantly clutched between her spider-like hands.

"Harvey," she acknowledged sharply, arching a slender eyebrow at his relaxed pose.

"Sister Margaret," he purred in response, tipping an imaginary hat.

_Ugh, a nun, I should have known._

**Yeah, you probably should've.**

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? And so late?" she asked, her tone biting. She never bothered with pleasantries or small talk; always straight to the point and with an edge to her tone, like she wanted nothing more than to get rid of him. But then, he supposed he deserved her apathy, after all he put her through.

"I need a favor," Two-Face said, flicking his cigarette away, among the darkness between the pews. Sister Margaret watched it disappear with a tiny frown on her face.

"And why should I owe you a favor?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest. "If you'll recall, the _last_ time I did you a favor, you repaid me by burning down half the monastery. For no reason other than the fact that you seem to be entirely _juvenile_ when it comes to your…_toys_."

"The rockets _malfunctioned_. The _Bat_ is the one to blame for that, not me, babe."

"And yet the monastery was very nearly destroyed."

"I paid to fix it, you uptight, righteous—"

_Two-Face!_

Sister Margaret fixed him with a steely look, reserved and cool, but toxic nonetheless. He stopped mid-tirade and cleared his throat.

_Don't piss her off, you douche!_

"Fine," Two-Face snapped, "sorry. It won't happen again, I promise."

He bristled with barely restrained rage and turned around, fishing another cigarette out of his pack, ignoring the noise of disdain and disapproval behind him. Fuck her, he'd smoke wherever he damn well pleased.

"You come into this Holy Sanctuary expecting me to cooperate without a fuss," the Sister sighed, "despite our differences in the past. I thank you for what you did for me in the beginning. You gave me a new life, a new meaning, a new _purpose_, but this must end, this deceit _must__not _continue."

He watched her in silence, smoking and contemplating his options. Same old song and dance, every time he came to see her. His visits were infrequent and unpredictable, but she always acted like she expected to never see him again. And he _had_ almost burnt down the monastery last time…although it was mostly Batman's fault, but he preferred to bury that particularly _embarrassing_ memory.

"Marge, _babe_," he schmoozed, grinning that charismatic grin of his, "there's no deceit involved at all, and it's not like I'll be holding a gun to your head or anything. C'mon, I'm offering _cash_."

The look in her eyes wasn't promising. He could almost hear the gears turning, could almost see her expression going through subtle changes as she weighed the consequences of her actions against the money he was offering. Maybe he had underestimated her; maybe she had turned into a little goody-two-shoes after all. Damn, he'd have to kill her.

"Let's say I were to agree to this favor of yours," Sister Margaret mused, circling around so she could look Two-Face in the eyes. "What is this favor, and, more importantly, how much are you willing to pay me?"

"Need you to get me some information," Two-Face growled, flicking the cigarette with a finger before lighting it with carefully cupped hands around his lighter. "I got some business to take care of down at the docks in a few months and I want to know if I'm being played, that's all."

"What sort of business? Drugs?"

"Yeah," he reluctantly admitted, "but there's something really fuckin' _strange_ about the whole damn thing. I get the feeling I'm being double-crossed."

"You've become twice as paranoid in the past few years. Who are you dealing with?"

_I like this one. How come I've never been introduced?_

**Shut up!**

"The Russians. I don't fuckin' trust them. No offense."

Sister Margaret flinched and her hand automatically covered her forearm. Her expression turned glossy and unfocused, as if she was seeing something that wasn't really there. He knew very little about her childhood, only that she migrated from Russia with her older brother, who died on the passage over. He didn't pry, never cared to, and she never offered any intimate details.

"Harvey," she said after a moment, slowly, as if every word pained her, "I owe Russia nothing. What sort of information do you need me to get, and what's in it for me?"

"I want to find out exactly what kind of drug they're transporting over here. I need to know if it's safe."

Sister Margaret sighed and sat down on one of the pews, her back ramrod straight and her hands folded neatly in her lap. The wooden rosary curled over her thigh like a long, skinny worm. Two-Face puffed on his cigarette, looking up at the Virgin Mary statue looming over him. She looked so _very_ sad, for the Mother of God.

"And why do you care if the drug is safe or not?" she asked softly, curling and uncurling her fingers.

"I don't mind being grouped with the rest of the drug lords," Two-Face said. "but it's another thing to be labeled a terrorist. It's the subtle differences between cocaine and anthrax that sets them apart, and there's no way in hell I'm gonna get listed on the FBI's Most Wanted. I just want to know what I'm dealing with. My Russian contact is a man named Vlad Borikoff. You can start there. As for your half of the deal, I'll pay you double what I did last time, and I might even throw in a little something extra, _just_ for you."

Sister Margaret laughed, a shrill, staccato sound that sent chills down his spine.

"I stopped using a look time ago," she sighed, getting to her feet and clasping her hands in front of her, "but whatever you pay me will be enough, I'm sure of it. The church roof needs repairs."

_Can we go home now?_

**You Nancy-boy, yes, we're goin' home, fuck.**

"Then we're in business?"

A coy smile that looked way too much like a grimace turned her lips upwards.

"Yes, Harvey," she said, "we're in business."

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Three-forty in the AM and Harley couldn't fall asleep to save her life. It wasn't the bed or the room or anything—far from it! The bed was a dream, all plushy and soft and so snuggly she couldn't believe it! As for the room…well, there was nothing scary about it, not at all, so it wasn't like she was too scared the sleep. Her door even had its own lock! _Her own lock!_ So what was it then? Why was she wide awake, curled around her pillow in pajamas trying to count sheep?

Maybe because she kept picturing said sheep with their wool coats dyed purple and silly little grins on their little sheep faces.

Yeah, that was it.

She missed her Puddin' somethin' _terrible_.

A small dry sob worked its way out of her throat and she felt like crawling into a hole for the next month or so and waiting for Mistah J to come rescue her from this horrible place. And yes, it was _horrible_ and _awful_ and so much worse than Arkham, _ever!_ At first, things had been nice: she took an hour and a half long bath and didn't worry about the water going cold or about anyone coming in and trying to drown her. She shaved and lathered herself up with bubbles and made a little hat out of the foam. After the bathwater drained, she wrapped herself in a massive fluffy towel and spent the rest of the day lounging around until dinner was called.

Dinner was the _worst!_ Oh, how she wished Mistah J would take her away! She just wanted to go back to their kitchen in their hideaway and cook something horrible so that he'd yell and throw dishes at her head! Seth was alright, she supposed, but the German guy and the twins were just _weird_. German-guy kept staring at her, and the twins gave her the _creepiest-crawliest_ looks! Like they were…oh, she didn't know, undressing her with their eyes! If Mistah J was there, they wouldn't have eyes to undress her with!

Another sob wrenched itself away from her vocal chords and she coughed. A glass of water. Or warm milk. She needed a drink. Her bare feet touched the carpet and her toes curled in at the softness tickling her soles. Armed with only her wits and a small flashlight, she slowly made her way downstairs, using the stairs and not the elevator. She didn't trust this place well enough, and wouldn't, not until Mistah J came for her. Maybe she'd get him to try an' burn it down or somethin'…

The kitchen was all abandoned darkness and leftover smells from dinner (which _had_ been delicious, she wasn't gonna lie; the twins were annoying, but booooooy, could they could _cook!_). The linoleum froze her feet, but the fridge, it was so close! She could almost taste the milk that she knew was inside, a whole gallon of it!

"Sneak, sneak, sneak!" she whispered to herself, tiptoeing across the floor and cracking the fridge open just a little bit, until the interior light came on. Yes! Wholesome whole milk, infused with Vitamin D and…well, she didn't know what else, but it was good for you! Setting her light down, Harley found a cup in the sink and washed it out real well before pouring a generous glass and downing half of it in three greedy gulps.

Ahhhh, nothing like a good glass of milk to help calm the nerves and send her straight off into la-la land. At least there was food in the fridge, if nothing else. Her stomach rumbled and she pet it, contemplating making herself a sandwich or something. S'not like anyone would miss it or anything, with as rich as Twofie was, right? She scoured the fridge (it was a _nice_ fridge, not like the cruddy mini one she and the Joker got) and came up with lettuce, tomato, onions (_blegh!_), and roast beef.

"Yummy!" she said to herself, and threw all the ingredients onto the counter. A loaf of bread later and she was ready to bite into her delicious sandwich to silence her tummy.

_Click-chk._

Harley froze, her sandwich poised at her open mouth as the strange sound reverberated throughout the room. It sounded like a door unlocking, and though normally that wouldn't mean anything, but for Harley, this was a strange ol' place, with strange people, and she didn't trust anyone. She ducked down behind the island counter, her sandwich forgotten. Just because someone had a key to a place didn't mean they belonged there. This was Gotham, after all.

She opened one of the cupboards and rummaged around until she felt the long handle of something large and, hopefully, blunt. Hey, a skillet was better than nothing. The door creaked open and the sound of heavy footsteps and muffled cursing filled the hallway. Beyond that, she heard the steady patter of rainfall hitting the pavement outside. It must have just started raining, then. The footsteps stilled for a moment and then started toward her, toward the kitchen. She tightened her grip on the skillet and gulped. It was now or never.

Harley prepared to spring and strike—the tension left her coiled muscles the moment her feet left the floor, and, at the same moment, a switch flicked on and light flooded the kitchen. Harley tried to squeak, tried to make her arms stop, tried to halt herself from making the biggest no-no on the face of the planet…but, try as she might, she couldn't stop herself from swinging at Two-Face, who stood there in the kitchen, half soaked, with his coat draped over his arm, his finger still on the light switch, and a very surprised look on both halves of his face.


End file.
